


Bonfires and Boggarts

by CasablancaInTheTardis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonfire Night, Boyfriends, Draco represses his issues, Drarry, Established Relationship, Fluff, Guy Fawkes - Freeform, Harry is sweet, I was aiming for cute, M/M, Mild Angst, Muggle Traditions, PTSD, Panic Attack, but they’re cute so who cares, really flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 12:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21458104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasablancaInTheTardis/pseuds/CasablancaInTheTardis
Summary: Harry has always loved Bonfire Night and the annual fireworks display. Granted, he has only been once, but now he is returning and bringing his boyfriend with him. What could possibly go wrong? Fluffy aiming for sweet but got some angst in there too. Warning for description of a mild panic attack (Draco) and some inefficient but well-intentioned comforting (Harry).
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 75





	Bonfires and Boggarts

**Author's Note:**

> There is a brief description of Draco having a panic attack so here is your trigger warning. Other than that, enjoy a bit of muggle-tradition-loving Harry, and willing-to-try-new-things Draco! (Only posting this a week later than intended)

As Harry walked hand in hand with Draco towards the swelling crowds milling around the heath, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his first Bonfire Night many, many years previously.

Much to Petunia’s shock and dismay, the mother of one of Dudley’s friends had invited Harry along to see the fireworks with the large group of them that were going. Before Petunia had time to argue, Harry had eagerly consented, realising at the tender age of nine that this might be his only opportunity to see the fireworks the other children at school spoke about.

Harry had not been disappointed - the crackling and whizzing noises, the bright colours, the oohs and ahhs of the crowd all filled him with such a sense of wonderment that he had instantly fallen in love with the celebration. The fact that he’d had to wait another decade before he saw a muggle fireworks display did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm.

Harry and Draco had found one another somewhere between rebuilding Hogwarts and recreating their post-war images. Harry’s was one that kept well out of the public eye, but was quietly subversive with him taking pleasure every time he failed to meet someone else’s pre-conceived idea of him; Draco’s was one of calm and patient redemption, with a hint of flamboyance that only his closest friends got to see. They were both living in muggle London, in seperate dwellings (for the moment), whilst they pursued their own interests and careers.

But Harry was thrilled to be able to take Draco out to see the celebrations on the fifth of November. Guy Fawkes Night was sure to impress. Even though Harry loved the Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-bangs, there was something to be said for the sense of community one felt attending a Bonfire Night celebration.

“This way,” he said, tugging Draco by the hand across the muddy field and towards the glaring lights of the funfair at the fringes of the celebration.  
  
“My boots are getting all muddy,” Draco frowned in consternation.  
  
“I told you to wear your wellies, you numpty,” Harry replied, without compassion.  
  
“Yes, but you also told me this would be fun, so I’m starting to seriously doubt your ability to tell the truth,” Draco grumbled, shooting Harry a glare.

Far from making Harry feel guilty, it simply made him feel a surge of affection for the blond man before him. Whiny and sharp though he could be, Harry wouldn’t trade him for anyone else. And at least things between them were never dull.

“Better brew me up some veritaserum, then,” Harry joked, “because I am being completely honest when I say you’re going to love it.”  
  
“Don’t talk about love. Love has made me stupid. Otherwise, why would I be standing in a field surrounded by muggles on a perfectly good Saturday night when I could be at a club, or at home with a nice book and a bottle of wine?” Draco grumbled, though Harry didn’t miss the casual admission of love, and decided to pull his boyfriend in for a quick, sweet kiss.  
  
“Stop trying to distract me from the fact that I’m cold, my shoes are ruined, and that these fireworks are going to pale in comparison to their wizarding counterparts,” Draco admonished when Harry pulled away. But even in the low light of the street lamps and funfair, Harry could see the flush that had crept up onto Draco’s cheeks and knew he had achieved his goal.

“Come on, we’re nearly there,” Harry said, gently tugging Draco along past the assorted food trucks and ice cream vans (“ice cream in this weather, honestly!” Draco had said). “I thought we could have a wander through the rides and sort out what we’ll go on later, then find a good spot to watch the fireworks,” Harry said. “You like rides, right?”  
  
“I have never been on any,” Draco replied.  
  
“You’ve never been to a funfair or an amusement park?” Harry said incredulously.  
  
“Shockingly enough, no,” Draco said. “Muggle entertainment is not really my family’s style.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Harry shrugged, deciding to breeze past that potentially fraught conversation. “Well, we’ve got the kids’ rides over there,” he said, pointing to the teacups spinning in slow circles and the dodgem cars. “That one’s called ‘sudden drop’,” he indicated the tall tower which appeared to have a row of seats full of people at its apex.  
  
“Sounds self explanatory,” Draco said, though Harry could see his interest was piqued. They watched for a moment as the ride seemed to fail and the row of people plummeted towards the ground, only to be stopped jerkily halfway down amid screams and laughter, before falling again.  
  
“Why would people enjoy that?” Draco asked, continuing to amble down the crowded path.  
  
“I think it’s the knowing a surprise is coming but not knowing when,” Harry said, “plus that feeling of leaving your stomach behind. Kind of like flying.”  
  
“I don’t like surprises. I like to know exactly where I’m going,” Draco said haughtily, causing Harry to smirk.  
  
“Well, what about that roller coaster, then?”  
  
They stopped in front of a gaudily lit attraction which had the flashing words ‘Matterhorn’ attached to it. There was a two-carriage train whizzing about the tracks which twisted and turned at alarming angles. At one point there was even a part of the tracks that formed a loop-the-loop so that passengers would be tipped upside down.  
  
“Yes, this one,” Draco agreed.  
  
“Really?” Harry was surprised - he had thought maybe something simpler for a first timer.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ok, sure, but we’ll get tickets after the fireworks. It’s nearly eight now so we’d better go get a good spot.”

————

Watching Draco watch the fireworks was almost as good as getting to see the fireworks himself. Harry kept stealing sideways glances at the man to gauge his reaction to the showers of sparks and radiant colours dancing across the night sky. The slight flinches at the loud bangs were understandable, Harry figured, but he did enjoy the way Draco’s eyes widened in wonder at the particularly impressive explosions, and the way his mouth dropped open - just slightly - in what Harry deduced to be awe.

For his own part, Harry had particularly enjoyed the gold sparkly ones that shot up in formations of four of five, and had bright red tails trailing after them. He also liked the big green explosions that were always followed by the big jets of gold straight up into the air. His favourite part, though, was joining in on the oohs, ahhs, and delighted laughter of the crowd. There really was nothing quite like it. And, he contemplated as he looked at Draco’s profile lit up by a shower of blue light, there was nothing like sharing it with someone you loved.

————

After hearing Draco admit that, yes, these fireworks were quite good, really, and watching him grin and gasp all the way through their ride on the roller coaster, Harry had bought some cinnamon donuts for them to share on their way out.

As they pushed through the crowd, keen to get back to their apparition point now that the festivities were over, Draco slipped a little in the mud and Harry had to wrap and arm quickly around his waist to stop him ending up covered in the stuff. Both of them laughing a little - because even Draco couldn’t maintain the pretence of a scowl with the Chosen One’s arms around him - they hadn’t realised what the crowd was even moving towards.

With a jolt of excitement, Harry realised they had come upon an actual bonfire. Before them stood the giant conflagration, complete with effigy of Guy Fawkes - really, it was just a large, humanoid shape fashioned together out of straw, but the hat atop his head gave away the intended identity. The fire beneath the effigy was already ablaze, flames licking at the base of the straw body, the heat of the fire hitting Harry in the face in a great rush.

This was part of the fifth of November celebrations that Harry had never seen. He didn’t think many of the festivals actually had bonfires anymore, it was more usual to just be a fireworks show. How lucky that he and Draco got to see this part-  
  
“Draco?” Harry asked, frowning at his partner whose body had instantly gone stiff and taught at the sight of the bonfire. “Draco, what’s wrong?”  
  
Draco’s pale, pointed face had gone somehow paler, eyes wide and frozen in fear. Harry could see the panic in his eyes, and the tremor that had begun in his gloved hands. It looked as though he was struggling to take in air.

Harry’s instincts kicked in and, without considering that they were surrounded by muggles, pulled Draco close to side-along him to the dilapidated shop front that doubled as the entrance to St Mungo’s. Moments later, when they arrived, Harry had to concede that this maybe hadn’t been the best idea given that apparition already felt like you were being squeezed through a tube, let alone in the midst of some sort of breathing complication.

“Come on - you need a healer,” Harry said, trying to force Draco into the building.  
  
“No,” Draco wheezed, “It’s. Fine.”  
  
“It’s bloody not bloody fine,” Harry said indignantly, his own panic temporarily abating.  
  
“Just. Panic. Attack,” Draco said with considerable effort. “Need. Quiet.”  
  
Harry stood there lamely, not knowing what to do other than listen to Draco’s laboured breathing as he crouched down in the dirty street.

After what felt like an hour of watching the man he cared about trembling, breathing hoarsely and rocking slightly - but was probably only five minutes - Harry was relieved when Draco straightened up again, albeit somewhat shakily.

“Are you-”  
  
“You’re not actually going to ask if I’m ok, are you?” Draco sighed in a wavering voice, “because I think the answer is fairly obvious.”  
  
“Why won’t you let me take you inside?” Harry asked, arms crossed against the cold and against feelings of uselessness.  
  
“I don’t need a healer telling me I need to speak about my feelings,” Draco scowled, although it didn’t carry its usual venom given the thin sheen of sweat on his brow.  
  
“Well it seems pretty clear you need to talk to someone,” Harry said. “It’s not normal to-”  
  
“To what, Potter? Completely lose my shit when I see a big fire? So sorry to be such an abnormal inconvenience to you.” Draco’s sneer was now properly in place and Harry could see with perfect clarity where he’d gone wrong.  
  
“Wait, it was the fire?”  
  
Draco folded his arms and turned away from Harry, who was sure it was to hide the angry tears in his eyes, but he did not make a move to leave.  
  
“Of course,” Harry said softly, mentally smacking himself in the head, “like the night-”  
  
“The night Crabbe died, yes,” Draco said, back still to Harry. “I still... still dream about it, sometimes. I don’t... I can’t be around...”  
  
“You don’t like open flames,” Harry said, comprehension dawning.  
  
“It’s not that I don’t like them,” Draco said in frustration more directed at himself than Harry, “I just can’t breathe, I can’t think... It’s like my brain just takes me straight back. To that room. And I. Freeze. And I. Can’t. I just...”  
  
He had begun to hyperventilate again, but Harry was quicker off the mark this time, stepping in to fold Draco into a hug and rub soothing circles on his back.  
  
“It’s fine, you’re fine, I’m here,” he mumbled incoherently, feeling Draco’s whole body trembling but his breathing level out again. After another minute or two, he pulled back, holding Draco gently by the shoulders.  
  
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Harry asked.  
  
“I’m embarrassed,” Draco said.  
  
“There’s nothing embarrassing about post traumatic stress,” said Harry. “Why do you think I was such a mess after the war?”  
  
Draco shrugged. “You’ve always been a mess. A hot mess, to be fair,” he added.  
  
“Very funny,” Harry said drily. “But there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”  
  
“My boggart’s changed,” Draco said. “Now, instead of it being You-Know-Who, it’s a big bloody fire made of chimeras and snakes.”  
  
“When did you find that out?” Harry asked, privately thinking it was the sort of thing a boyfriend ought to know.  
  
“A few months ago, when I was allowed to go back to the Manor to collect some belongings. There was a boggart in a cupboard in the blue drawing room and... well... I never did get all the good china back,” Draco said glumly. “Couldn’t even banish a simple boggart.”  
  
“I could go back and get rid of it for you?”’  
  
Draco’s mouth lifted into a half smile. “You’re sweet, Potter, but the ministry will have dealt with it by now. The Manor no longer belongs to my family.”  
  
Side-stepping that particular conversation, Harry then asked: “would you consider speaking to someone? A mind healer or regular psychologist - you wouldn’t have to tell them it was Fiendfyre, just a regular one. I’m sure they have to deal with that sort of stuff all the time.”  
  
Draco regarded the man before him: the man who had found such joy in colourful displays of gunpowder and muggle fairground rides; the man who had stood by him in the face of seemingly insurmountable prejudice against his past actions; the man who had saved him from the very fire which had left him with PTSD.  
  
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” he agreed.  
  
“Good,” Harry said firmly, “now let’s get you home.”  
  
“Can we walk? Not feeling up to apparition,” Draco admitted.  
  
“Sure,” Harry said, winding his arm through Draco’s as they set off down the muggle street. They walked in companionable silence for a little way, both lost in their own thoughts about the evening.

“Harry, who was the burning man supposed to be?” Draco asked as they turned onto a busy high street.  
  
“Oh, it’s meant to be Guy Fawkes.”  
  
“Strange name. Same as the phoenix, huh?”  
  
“You know, I never thought of that,” Harry replied with a nod of appreciation.  
  
“Why do muggles want to set him on fire?”  
  
“He tried to blow up muggle parliament because he didn’t like the king and thought his people were being unfairly persecuted,” Harry explained as they walked on and on. “At least, I think that’s right. We only did him at school once in year three.”  
  
“So, are people celebrating his actions or condemning him?” Draco asked, frowning slightly. Harry loved this about Draco - he was always wanting to learn, to know more. He especially loved it when Draco showed an interest in muggle things, because it just went to show how far he had come in such a short amount of time, and that knowledge made Harry’s heart give a little squeeze of pleasure.  
  
“I don’t think the muggles are really sure anymore, to be honest,” Harry said, steering them into a cosy looking cafe for a tea before home. Draco stopped before Harry could open the door, disentangling himself and instead taking Harry’s hand in his.  
  
“Thank you for tonight,” he said quietly.  
  
“What, for forgetting why they call it Bonfire Night and causing you to have a panic attack? Yeah, I’m a real catch,” Harry said, annoyed at himself.  
  
“No, I mean, that wasn’t ideal-”  
  
Harry snorted, looking away from Draco.  
  
“But it was still a special night.”  
  
Harry looked back at him.  
  
“Thank you for sharing with me something that is so important to you.”  
  
“Who is this sappy Malfoy and what did he do with my boyfriend?” Harry half-joked.  
  
“Oh, shut up and buy me a tea, you git,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.  
  
“There he is!” Harry grinned, pulling Draco in for a quick kiss.  
  
A quick kiss that Draco deepened, tangling his fingers in Harry’s notoriously messy hair and pulling their bodies flush against one another.   
  
And, in the near distance, could be heard the sound of fireworks.

_The end_

**Author's Note:**

> English nursery rhyme (I thought it was only one verse, but I was mistaken!):
> 
> Remember, remember the fifth of November,  
Gunpowder treason and plot.  
We see no reason  
Why gunpowder treason  
Should ever be forgot! 
> 
> Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent  
To blow up king and parliament.  
Three score barrels were laid below  
To prove old England's overthrow. 
> 
> By god's mercy he was catch'd  
With a darkened lantern and burning match.  
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.  
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.
> 
> And what shall we do with him?  
Burn him!


End file.
